Beginning and End
by Mynuet
Summary: "I didn’t know that love wasn’t always gentle, that it could claw its way into you and make you bleed even as you feel the happiest." (D/G, strong sexual themes)


Beginning and End

by Sharlene (mynuet)

When had it started? While there was a definite incident that could be pointed to as the start of it all, there were roots that trailed backwards, tangled and building up to where finally something was visible. A girl who felt herself to be tainted started drawing in on herself, and no one, not even her brothers, seemed to notice. A boy, who made sure no one noticed that he watched her, wondered about what was going on behind the deliberate blankness of her eyes. He knew her better than she knew herself, and he watched and he waited for several years while she tried to convince herself that she was just the same as she had ever been, clinging to her quietness and her pathetic schoolgirl crush on the Boy Who Lived in a way that would make him furious until he reminded himself that it wouldn't come to anything, and that eventually he would be able to bring about the outcome he wanted.

He was so busy watching her that he scarcely noticed he was withdrawing from his own world. Not that it mattered; the more disdain he showed, the more he was respected, and feared. He had ceased initiating confrontations, but he was quick to finish them, his words applied with the precision of a scalpel and the detachment of an assassin. It gave him more time to watch her, think about her, want her.

Then she started watching him back, and he had allowed himself to smirk at her, once, with some of the gladness and sense of triumph that he felt showing before he went back to simply watching her with every appearance of impassivity. She wavered between anger and confusion, and he felt a sense of satisfaction. He toyed with the idea of pushing forward his plans, of starting something in earnest, but he made himself wait, not wanting to ruin the long term by rushing in.

And so it was her that started it, if you define the beginning in narrow terms. There had been a game, and he had stayed late in the locker rooms, well past when the rest of the team had left. He'd had the nagging feeling of being watched, but he didn't see any one when he checked. Shaking off the prickling in the back of his neck, he placed a locking charm to make sure no one else would come in and started stripping off his mud spattered uniform. He'd stepped under the steaming hot water and closed his eyes, picturing her hair, her perfume, the body that he had only caught glimpses of.

When he opened his eyes, she was there, every tantalizing inch of her, naked and beautiful, her eyes intent. She had not said a word, and had ensured he wouldn't by sealing his mouth with hers. The battle they had waged with words and then with glances now became one of carnality, each unleashing a hunger that was primitive and savage and would not accept surrender. Any thoughts he might have entertained of being gentle were wiped out by her voice, hissing like a flame as she urged him on, harder, faster, her nails digging into his shoulders and her legs wrapped around him like she never intended to let go. Finally she screamed, and he lost himself in the satisfaction that it had been HIS name that she cried out.

They had talked afterwards, glad of the charm that had made sure the supply of hot water was endless, and that his induction onto the team had happened to include supplying the Slytherin locker room with a whirlpool. Between deep kisses and long, slow caresses, they managed to agree to meet again. He would buy her an invisibility cloak of her own, so she wouldn't have to steal Harry's again, and she would make more stable contraception arrangements than the cantrip she had used that evening. They did not discuss the possibility of having a public relationship.

Eventually they parted, each sneaking up to their own beds and wondering what would happen the next day. She could feel his eyes on her as she entered the Great Hall and she stifled a smile. When he walked by Ron, good old reliable brother that he was, made a comment about ferrets. Malfoy responded lazily, and Ginny saw her opening for a caustic comment of her own.

There had been a moment of dead silence as the entire hall seemed to take in that the littlest Weasley had spoken. She'd met Draco's eyes squarely, and he had raised an eyebrow at the look in her eyes, the same one she had worn when rubbing her body against his. After a brief pause he had responded in kind, and they continued to trade insults until her brother and his friends dragged her away.

Their coming together that night was explosive, neither of them having enough patience or self-control to fully undress, let alone indulge in such niceties as conversation. The moment the door had shut behind her in the private room granted to him as a prefect, they had fused together, attacking each other in a fierce struggle for dominion. She'd eventually gone back to her dorm, but both of them slept through breakfast the next day.

They never did a lot of talking. Their hunger for each other was such that they devoured each other whenever they were alone, taking more risks as the days went on. Their verbal sparring matches were the talk of the school, and it seemed that everyone was looking at her in a new light. One late night she giggled as she pictured what people would say if they had known that sweet little Ginny Weasley had covered herself and big bad Draco Malfoy with her invisibility cloak while they had sex against the wall of the most trafficked hallway in the school? He had growled and tickled her and she giggled more before they fell into each other again, making another attempt at sating a lust that seemed endless.

It was inevitable that they would get caught. They had had a shouting match in front of the entire school and then stormed off, only to meet in an empty classroom and start kissing furiously. Ron, Harry and Hermione had burst in to see Ginny bent backwards over a desk, her arms on his shoulders as he leaned over her, his hands on her breasts and his lips on hers. Ron had bellowed in rage and gone in with fists blazing, too angry to even consider using magic. Hermione had pulled Ginny away, hugging her and asking whether she was hurt. Harry had stood, frozen, before gathering Ginny to him and telling her everything would be all right. 

It had been then that Malfoy had paused in defending himself long enough for Ron to get a blow in. Draco had stared at Ginny for a long moment as she stood in Harry's arms, not protesting, not crying, not saying anything. He saw the glazed shock in her eyes and then heard Ron demanding that he leave Ginny alone, and he'd simply nodded and stalked away. That was when Ginny started crying, and nothing her friends did comforted her. 

They didn't understand why she had hysterics at the thought of reporting Malfoy's 'attack', but they gave way. She and Draco no longer sniped at each other, and she went back to being quiet, unassuming, the shadow of her brother and his friends. If sometimes she stared at Malfoy with pain in her eyes, well, her friends assumed that it was from the trauma she had endured at his hands, and raged out how he had the nerve to look at Ginny so coldly, like it had been her that did something wrong.

The main difference was that Harry had apparently noticed Ginny was all grown up. Gently, courteously, he had started wooing her, bringing her flowers and walking her to her classes, and acting every inch the gentleman. She told herself this was what she wanted, and that her dreams were coming true, but she would wake up in the middle of the night sweating and thinking of Draco. 

She wanted to scream sometimes when Harry treated her like porcelain, scream because she didn't think she could live without the fire of antagonism, and she couldn't pick a fight with him. He was too kind, he'd been a friend for too long, and she couldn't bring herself to be hateful to him, to make sarcastic comments and take a chance on wounding him. So she made herself over, trying to become what she should be, what she had been before she discovered within herself an addiction to a death eater's blond son. Then the letters had started.

She thought, with the first one, that she should rip it up, throw it in the fire, pretend she'd never received the parchment that screamed money and taste and Malfoy. She'd stood over the fire, but her hand had burned from the ambient heat without her dropping the missive into the flames and she gave in, tearing open the envelope and reading his words greedily. He avoided the subject of their parting and of her relationship with Harry, instead talking about his classes, quidditch practice, normal things that were almost inane in their mundanity. She had responded in kind and they started having long conversations by post. She reveled at having an outlet for being as sarcastic and outrageous as she could be, but refused to acknowledge the part of her mind that cried for his presence.

Her friends worried about her. They didn't know of her correspondence, but she was growing more secretive, more withdrawn. When she wasn't withdrawn, she was sharper, almost nasty at times, with a wit that cut those around her. Soon the only person still speaking to her voluntarily was Harry, and she thought she could hate him for it. He was kind, ardent, whispering to her that she had gotten under his skin and that he would never give up on her, never leave her. She'd cried at this, wishing with all her heart that what she felt at hearing it was something other than disappointment. 

Then Malfoy had disappeared. Ron was ecstatic, and Harry and Hermione only slightly less so, despite being worlds better at concealing their glee. Word filtered back that his father had died, but there was no letter from him. Ginny's letters were returned unopened and she felt like a bird that had been slammed in a cage, no longer even able to make the short hopping flights allowed to a domesticated bird with clipped wings. Her unacknowledged resentment grew to a rage that encompassed everyone. Ron for his protectiveness. Hermione for her sympathy. Harry for his gently offered adoration. Draco for leaving her, damn it, after she'd grown to need him, to need her daily fix of his blonde hair, his smirk, his derisive drawl, his sense of humor, and the feeling that she wasn't alone, that she could be who she was inside without feeling guilty for being impure, tainted. Most of all she loathed herself, for rejecting what she needed for what she had thought she wanted.

It was a stupid thing that caused her to snap. She'd been sitting in the common room, drinking hot cocoa while watching Ron and Hermione play a game of chess. Harry's arm was around her shoulders and he drew her closer and the more he pulled her towards him, the more her grip tightened on her mug. It felt so alien, his smell, the temperature of his skin, the way he exerted pressure on her shoulders, the complete wrongness of it being Harry. Her mug had shattered and she had looked down at her hand, seeing the blood well up and then run down her fingers and wondering why it didn't hurt. The others had been horrified and concerned, and suddenly all she could think was, "Why don't they say how stupid a thing it was for me to do?"

She didn't realize she had screamed it until she saw their shocked faces, and then she couldn't stop screaming. She slapped away Ron's hands when he would have reached for her, and when Harry tried to hold her, she ran. They had to be convinced she was mad and maybe she was, but all she could think of was /away/, and so she ran and ran, out of the Gryffindor tower, out of the castle, across the grounds. She finally stopped, breathless, her side aching and her hand throbbing from the cuts. She was outside the Slytherin locker room and she laughed, bitterly, to think of coming full circle.

She felt dizzy, overwhelmed, as she sat down, her back to the wall, and looked vaguely at her bleeding hand. It had broken open again and fresh blood was covering the places where it had already dried. It looked pretty, and she couldn't look away, at least until she was startled by a voice saying, "Honestly, Weasley, even muggles know better than to sit around bleeding to death."

"Malfoy," was all she said before leaping at him, her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, kissing every inch of his face with all the joy and passion that flared in her at the sound of his voice. "I missed you."

He sighed heavily, and his hands went around her hips, supporting her weight but not pulling her close. "Weasley, we have to talk."

She kissed her way down his neck, tugging at his collar to expand the amount of bare skin available to her. "Can't we talk later?"

"No." His voice was cold as he put his hands on her waist and lifted her off of him, placing her firmly at arm's length. She sobered as she took in the formality with which he was dressed, and the... the maturity in his face. He had developed the faintest of lines around his mouth and forehead, and she thought they looked incredibly sexy, but also incredibly forbidding. "What am I to you, Weasley?"

She caught her breath at the unexpectedness of his question, but he continued. "Am I a convenient fuck? A friend? A passing entertainment? What do you want from me?" 

His face was taut and she quailed at the coldness of it, searching for some sign of why he was asking, what he wanted the answer to be. She flexed her hand and would have started to speak, but he took her hand, and her breath caught in her throat. With infinite gentleness, he whispered a spell and the skin knit itself together. It was over in seconds, but it gave her the courage to say the unvarnished truth.

"You're my drug. You're my lover, the beast that I let into my soul, that let out the beast in mine. You're everything I feared, and the enemy I can't forgive." He flinched and tried to turn away, but she put held him, her still-sore hand resting on his jaw and forcing his eyes to hers. She felt tears in her eyes and ignored them, ignored the wobble in her voice, as she continued. "And you're all that I want, even though I shouldn't, not sweet little Ginny Weasley, daddy's angel."

His arms had been crossed over his chest, but he reached for her, kissing her, his hands slipping under her clothes and making her skin feel like it had been branded. She couldn't think, even though something in her brain was screaming at her that she hadn't finished, that there was something important left to say. He muttered something as he lowered her garments and knelt in front of her, the words "take what I can get" almost lost against the skin of her stomach. 

She took a breath that sounded more like a sob and put her arms around him, cradling him to her. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, feeling the dampness of her own tears and not caring as she whispered, "I didn't know that love wasn't always gentle, that it could claw its way into you and make you bleed even as you feel the happiest."

"Ginny..." Her name was a benediction from his lips, and his eyes were closed in the painful ecstasy of a saint sculpted by Michaelangelo. Her tears fell on his face and he kissed her softly, his gentle caring only making her cry harder. They made love there, in the shadow of the building where they had first come together, as slowly and generously as their hunger for each other would allow.

Was there an end? Something ended then, when the fairy tale writers would say the magic words of happily ever after. Fairy tales don't allow for arguments, though, for the rage and passion that they continued to show each other until the end of their days. The seven dwarves certainly never made spirited attempts to make Prince Charming swallow his own teeth, quite unlike the six Weasleys. Cinderella had never stayed up for long nights of trying to explain to her friends, her ex-boyfriend, and Molly Weasley why she felt the way she did, only to throw up her hands in disgust and elope when she was tired of keeping her hands off her prince. Still, as the years went by, it was hard to find anyone who knew them who didn't think of Draco and Ginny Malfoy as one of the happiest and most loving couples the world had seen. And that's enough, isn't it?

(Author's Note: This is a songfic of sorts, inspired heavily by Fiona Apple's "Fast As You Can". Not my usual style, but the plot bunny mugged me with a switchblade and wouldn't let me go until I'd written it. I place a lot of blame for this one my good friend Aria, who led me to give the Harry Potter fandom a chance and to believe that I wasn't the only one with a weak spot for D/G. I also want to thank Battlejoy Watson and my little sister Jheran, whose encouragement and support have been priceless.)


End file.
